


earth angel (please be mine)

by lyssy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mafia AU, Meet-Cute, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 19:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17966555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyssy/pseuds/lyssy
Summary: In a city that runs on crime as much is it does electricity, Keith is a young man lost in what he wants to do with his life. Move from the city and start fresh, or return to living the low life he knows in the mafia. As he tries to figure out the balance, fate would have it that he meets Lance, a mysterious boy with a lot of wealth to his name, who needs just a little favor.But things aren't so easy when it comes to Keith's life. There's plenty of secrets he has to unearth. And there's something he needs from Lance, too.





	earth angel (please be mine)

_Port Arus, New Jersey. 1965_

****

On the bus ride into Port Arus, the sky was the color of gunmetal, the early threat of a storm sewn into the clouds. Keith looked out at the dismal weather just past the high-rise buildings with a plaintive face. The beginning of summer had never looked so dreary to him, with smog and murk rolling in the streets. Mother Nature really knew how to bring out the welcome wagon on his return from boarding school.

Only he was glad to bid good riddance to that place, happy to have graduated from where his father had last sunken their money into. Because even now that he was long gone, he'd still tried his best to carve out a future for Keith. A real future.

What would he say if he could see where he was headed now?

The bus jostled over a bump in the road, stirring Keith out of his thoughts as he and the few other passengers in the vehicle rolled past the city's courthouse. Outside, a congregation of antiwar protesters held picket lines just on the steps of the building. There were people of all walks of life spilling out on the sidewalks, all decked in their boho and waving their signs in a colorful passion. Keith made out what he could of their posters as they drove past. 'LOVE NOT WAR', 'GET THE HELL OUT OF VIETNAM', or his favorite, 'SMOKE GANJA NOT GUNS'.

"Stupid hippies gon' get themselves drenched," a man sitting a few seats ahead said, a bitter edge to his voice.

Keith had a vague memory of his classmates chattering earlier last month about the big boom of flower children making waves across New Jersey. At the time, he'd figured it was just TV gossip, but he'd never seen a crowd of activists in such big numbers. Not in person.

Upfront, the man continued to gripe. "Used to be everyone in this world knew their place. Now everybody's out there screaming equality, and how they deserve a piece of the pie."

Keith white-knuckled the strap of his duffel slowly.

A woman sitting next to the man, who Keith presumed was his wife, nodded. "World sure is changing."

The man did a snort that was nothing short of derisive.

Liquid fast, everything in Keith's body went tight and hot with anger, as he bit down the urge to say something. If he started trouble here now, he certainly wouldn't finish it.

There was no understanding the deep-seated rage people held against the idea of a world evolving. And some white people especially just loved to compare activists to anarchists, if it would only make themselves feel better. That was just ironic. Keith knew what anarchy was. He grew up with it. And it was nothing comparable to that scene on the courthouse.

By the time the bus lurched to Keith's stop, the man seated at the front had just finished his ignorant episode. He had his neck craned, watching all the passengers he'd casually insulted evacuate the bus with a contemptuous sneer.

Keith rose from his seat and slung his heavy-set duffel bag over his shoulder. The man opened his mouth—definitely not for anything smart—as Keith approached, reared his fist back, and slugged him unconscious. Much like a rag doll's, the man's head did an ugly bob forward, and his wife cried out. "Richard!"

Keith carried on off the bus quickly without a glance back.

Outside, the atmosphere was much more clement without the ramblings of pompous Richard. Keith drew in a deep lungful of air, taking in the wet, chalky smell of downtown Port Arus. He flexed his quickly bruising knuckles, closed his eyes, and recounted what might come from returning to the city he'd once been implored to run away from.

Things could be alright. Couldn't they?

As if on cue, thunder clapped in the swiftly graying sky. And then it was pouring.

****

***

****

By the time Keith was crossing to Sendak's corner bar down the street, the rain had thinned itself out into a light drizzle. Since he'd last visited, the building had been refurbished to look dark and sleek. The most pop of color that remained splashed on it was the mural of downtown Port Arus, representing the community as the true melting pot of culture it was on the side of the building.

Just out front, Rolo was standing under the bar's awning, smoking a cigarette with a plain face until, at last, he took notice of Keith's arrival. "Holy hell," he said, blowing out a plume of smoke with a swiftly stretching grin. "That you, Keith?"

Keith spread his hands wide. "In the flesh."

"Man, I hardly recognized you," Rolo stole Keith's hand and pulled him in to clap him on the back.

"Maybe you should lay off the pot, then."

"This is a Lucky Strike," Rolo shot back, shaking his head in disbelief. "What'd you grow, an inch? Two? They feed you something special at that rich school of yours?"

"Yeah, I finally went somewhere they knew how to cook," Keith said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Other than his father and Shiro, Rolo and him went way back. They'd been friends growing up, so to speak, when Rolo's father, Sendak, co-owned the bar with Keith's dad. Back then, Sendak ran most of his operations out of his office there, and before that, it'd been a recruitment center for young minority boys who had nowhere else to go. He'd take them off the streets, and they'd work for him in his rackets.

Rolo pushed out a laugh and brought his cigarette back between his lips. "So, how was the trip?"

"Given that it's the first time in two years that someone isn't telling me where to go, what to do, and how to do it," Keith raised his eyebrows, his mouth a tilted smile. "Pretty great." He, of course, omitted the part about his unpleasant bus ride in. No use in complaining about white men _to_ a white man.

"Well, that's good to hear," Rolo said, taking another drag before asking. "Shiro know you're here?"

Keith's smile went quickly with the mention of him. "What he doesn't know won't kill him," he answered simply. He didn't want to get into it now. "Besides, he thinks I'm staying with a couple of friends from boarding school."

"Is that so?" Rolo looked impressed with the lie, but he didn't hover. He gave a glance up at the building behind him, poking the air with the butt of his cigarette. "Well, I hope you're happy to hear we got your space emptied out for you. My old man hasn't stopped talking about you since we got your letter about coming back to Arus."

"Really?" Keith asked, taken aback by the very idea of Sendak looking forward to his homecoming. If that's what he should call it.

"Yeah, he's been asking when you might show your face around here again. Uh, don't mention I told you that, though."

"I won't," Keith promised.

Rolo's mouth cracked back into a full grin. "Alright, then," he gestured for Keith to follow him on inside. "Let's get the hell outta this weather. Feels disgusting."

As they blew into the bar, Keith was compelled to ask why Rolo was standing outside in the first place. When he shook the damp from his hair, suddenly, a loud clamor of voices acknowledged their entry, and his breath caught.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" Rolo announced, casually stealing a glass of whiskey from a stranger and striding on toward the bar.

Stuffed all higgledy-piggledy in the booths lining the walls, strangers and members of the Blade alike raised their glasses in salute. Along the dark and lacquered bar area, familiar faces had their attention trained on Keith, smiles upturning their already flushed faces. From one banister to another, a 'welcome home' sign was strewn, and every part of Keith's being felt it was too much. He smiled nervously at everyone in turn.

One of the Blade's most faithful members, Kolivan, nodded at him from a leather wingback chair in the corner. His large, well-muscled frame dwarfed the seat. His bodyguard, Antok, a markedly bigger man, stood like a giant beside him. Years before, Keith remembered him looking like a linebacker, but now he was even more bulked, if possible, from pumping prison iron—or so he'd heard.

"You came back," said a voice beside Keith. Thace, their resident bootlegger, had a wary expression writ on his face from where he sat on a tufted brown sofa by Kolivan.

Keith squinted, uncertain himself what to say in response. It wasn't verbal, but he could feel the disappointment rolling off of him like a foul odor. Much like his father, Thace had at least tried to encourage Keith toward another direction in life.

But that was where another problem lied. A man like Thace, with his background and line of work, didn't know what the other direction was himself. So Keith kept his mouth shut. He didn't owe anyone an explanation as to why he would return, and certainly not to someone who'd been a part of the game as long as Thace had.

"I'll be damned," Sendak's deep voice filled the bar as he entered from the backroom of the joint. As he paced toward the seating area, Keith's entire body tensed.

Now, Sendak was the undisputed king of downtown Port Arus. He ran the mob on this side of town, ultimately referred to as the Blade of Marmora, and had a fixed business of loansharking. He controlled a better portion of the bootlegging enterprise, too, and even had things arranged underground—that included robbing and stealing and gambling, or at times, even paying off the police. Chances were, if it was risky business and had a big cash symbol on it, Sendak likely had involvement. He always had.

When he finally reached Keith, a lupine grin had taken up Sendak's face. He stuck a hand out and gave his shoulder a hearty squeeze. "Welcome home, Keith. How are you?"

"Fine, sir."

"No, no," Sendak waved dismissively, exchanging a glance with Rolo, who sat sipping his drink few feet away. "None of the formalities, son. You've been away two whole years—hell, we know it feels like a lot more. I told Rolo here you deserved a proper welcome."

"Feels proper enough," Keith joked wryly, signaling the welcome banner and rousing a few laughs in the room.

"Well, we're just happy to have you back. And now you can catch us up to speed on how you've been," Sendak turned, grabbing a drink for himself and passing another to Keith. He turned to face the rest of the bar. "But first, I'd like to make a toast."

Keith felt his stomach drop with uncertainty, bothered by the eyes of everyone in the room.

"I'm sure everyone knows here, Keith's father and I go back," Sendak continued. "There's not a day that goes by that I'm not devastated by his loss. You know, Ryou always used to say that the real worth of a man came from the mark he left on the world. And for him, that mark was Keith," Sendak's face went stern as he glanced Keith's way again. "It's been an honor to watch you grow into the man your father always wanted you to be. He'd be so proud to see you coming home a graduate, taking after him right where he left off."

The pit in Keith's stomach swelled venomously. Here, he couldn't say anything, but he knew very well his father would be rolling over in his grave to see him back here. Suddenly, the room felt far too small.

"I always said the best way to learn the business was from the streets up. And someday, you could be running it, too," Sendak said and lifted his glass with a smile. "To Keith! Welcome home!"

Everyone in the bar raised their glasses in unison, "To Keith!" they toasted. "Welcome home!"

For the eyes of the people in the bar, Keith quickly threw back a swig of his drink and found comfort in its burn down his throat. Afterwards, everyone rose from their respective seats to welcome him back with claps on the back and half-hearted embraces in turn. Their welcoming energy felt special despite his uncertainties.

Rolo emerged from behind the counter with two more bottles of hooch in hand and raised them with the devil in his eyes. "Now, let's get shit-faced!"

The bar roared in enthusiasm.

****

***

****

By the time Keith found time to himself, the party had mostly fizzled down. He snuck away while lingering guests chatted amongst themselves, and slipped behind the heavy velvet drapes leading to the backroom, where the rest of the building branched off into offices. On the second level, he found his door on the far end of the hall, and mounted the rickety wooden steps to the musty attic garret he'd be staying in.

As he unpacked his belongings tiredly, his guilt settled in faster than he could keep up with. This had been a mistake, hadn't it?

Being downstairs, standing by as Sendak practically offered him a portion of the Blade, felt nearly surreal. It was more than enough of a reality check. Another sign saying he didn't belong here. He knew it, Shiro knew it, even Thace knew it.

So where did he belong?

A rhythmic knock came just before the attic door opened with a creak. Keith glanced over his shoulder to see Rolo coming through.

"Settling in so quickly, uh?" Rolo asked.

Keith crossed the room to the kitchenette's too tiny sink, feigning a smile. "Didn't really feel like being social." He ran the tap.

Rolo made a chiding sort of noise. "Like you've ever been," he said and went quiet until Keith began rinsing his face. "I've got a favor to ask of you."

"What's that?"

"You remember Shay and Rax?"

"Of Balmera? Sure."

"I've been talking with them lately," Rolo said. "A couple months ago, they started selling weed, asked me if I wanted in on some."

"Makes sense," Keith furrowed a brow and turned the tap off. "What'd you say?"

"I said yes. Shit's free money as far as I'm concerned. Anyway, a week back, Rax dropped a line and said they were moving into moonshine now, and they're looking for a partner down in one of these parts."

Keith paused from where he'd begun patting his face with a washcloth. He couldn't imagine a certain uptown district would be too pleased with that. Moonshine was Daibazaal business only, and they were just another mob not to be reckoned with, especially with people like Lotor and Honerva being at the head of it. They were the Blade's biggest competitors.

"We'd steer clear of Daibazaal territory," Rolo said at last, as if reading his mind. "I've already talked it out with Ulaz and Regris."

"Right. So what does this have to do with me?"

"I'm supposed to be meeting a guy of theirs tonight. He's bringing in a small shipment for me to pick up," Rolo explained. "We're just gonna try out the product here, see how it sells. Thing is, I can't go tonight. I'm meeting Nyma."

Keith scoffed, catching Rolo's reflection in the mirror with a glare. "And you want to saddle me with _your_ job?"

Rolo bent at the knees and gave a great sigh. "Come on, man, this night's really important to her," he winced as if that would lighten the request. "She wants me to have dinner with her parents tonight. You know I can't say no. She's my girl."

Keith fought the need to roll his eyes, shaking his head. He should have expected some package deal to come with being offered a free roof over his head. "I don't know," he said. "I kind of need to lay low for a bit, figure some things out."

"Look, I'm not asking you to come in on this with us. It's just a favor, okay? Besides, it'd be just like old days."

Keith didn't want it to be like the old days. He wanted a life outside the mafia. He wanted the same American dream as everyone else. He wanted an escape.

But he didn't know where to start.

From behind him, Rolo shook some car keys, grinning at him in the sink's rusted mirror. "I'll let you drive the Dodge?"

That renewed Keith's attention quickly. His eyes instinctively locked on the jingling keys in the mirror. The Dodge Charger was a sleek black dream of a car, practically built for speed and shredding rubber. Keith couldn't recall how many daydreams he'd entertained about taking it out one night to cruise on the outskirts of Port Arus.

Keith tore his gaze back to his own reflection. "I'll think about it."

The jingling stopped. "You do that," Rolo said, smirk in his voice. He shut the door behind him as he left.

There was every reason not to follow him on his way out. If Keith kept on this path, he could at the very least settle right with the world, get a normal job, strive for the life his father dreamed of. There was so much better he could do with his life. Right?

Keith was scowling in the mirror. He rubbed at his brow as if to smooth out the tension it held. In that moment, he looked older than his nineteen years, his dark hair long and unkempt around his face. The burn scar slashed in a tight line across his cheek looked offensive as ever, a cruel reminder of his past, a reminder that he couldn't escape who he was.

"Rolo!" Keith called out. After a moment of hesitation, he turned heel quickly and marched down the stairs of the garret. "Wait up!"

Someday, one day, he'd apologize to his dad for the damaged future.

****

***

****

A mere few blocks away from the local courthouse, Keith pulled the Dodge into a tight parking space just on the dimly lit streetside, right by the drugstore where Rolo had told him to wait. Initially, it'd sounded like foolish plan, doing the exchange so close to a federal building. But tonight, that was meant to work in their favor.

Cars were packed like sardines all up and down the line of the streets, and though many storefronts were dark, there were people scattered all over the place. Most of all, there was a huge crowd of protesters rallied back at the courthouse, blocking the street in full.

Keith couldn't help it. Rain or storm, he admired their tenacity, and the way they stood their ground to prove just how indispensable they were. It was heartening to see such a diverse group of people united with a passion for the greater good.

While fixed on the crowd in the rearview mirror, a knuckle rapped on the driver's window, bringing Keith back down to Earth with a flinch. There stood a man on the other side of the door, portly in appearance. He had an apron like a butcher's on.

"You Rolo?" he asked, muffled by the glass.

Keith popped open the door a wary few inches. "He couldn't make it," he said. "I'm Keith. You're Sal, right? I've got the money."

After a second, Sal grinned down at him. "That's all I need to hear."

From Sal's truck, the two hefted out three case fulls of moonshine disguised in wooden milk crates to the backseat of the Dodge. With how desolate rest of the street was, their work was done as inconspicuously as possible.

In the far distance, the voice of a woman shouting through a megaphone blared through the night. She stood tall at the landing of the courthouse's stairs. "We won't fight another rich man's war! We weren't born to burn! _Who_ are you dying for? _Who_ are you killing for?"

The crowd of protestors bellowed in response.

Keith found himself glancing the way of the rally as he fished in the lining of his leather jacket. "Any idea why Rax and Shay are switching to moonshine, all of sudden?" He passed Sal the wad of cash Rolo supplied him with.

Sal followed his gaze and chuffed a laugh. "Can't say much, but Daibazaal's been stealing a lot of game from them lately. They've been selling in Balmera territory for sure," he looked back to Keith. "Hey, how's that brother of yours been?"

A lump welled in Keith's throat. He shut the back door of the Dodge. "Gone," he said simply. "Shiro's gone."

"Heard he moved to Manhattan," Sal said and gave Keith a knowing sort of glance over. "Yeah, I heard of you. Your Ryou's kid, aren't you?"

 _I have a name._ "Yes, I am," Keith answered irritably and settled back into the driver's seat of the car.

"My condolences," Sal said. He gave the roof of the car a pat before heading on his way. "Best of luck to you, then."

Back in the privacy of the Dodge, Keith let his mood sour. He watched Sal's truck drive off with a glare, wishing it were easier to live outside of his father's shadow. It was apparent he couldn't do that here. And to add insult to injury, he was reminded of Shiro, too. The last guy to put his faith in Keith before leaving this life behind as well. He hardly responded to the man's letters anymore. Too angry. Too ashamed.

As he sulked at the wheel, a light shower of rain fell upon the car and grew progressively heavier. All he wanted was a simple notion that coming back was worth the pain of facing his past.

Outside, the woman with the megaphone shouted again. "Resist the war!"

The crowd whooped before her.

"Resist!"

The sky cracked with lightning.

"Resist!"

The violent shriek of police whistles sounded at the end of the street, startling Keith enough to look back as a different kind of cry rose among the mass of protestors. Within the crowd, a tear-gas canister had landed, and the street was quickly becoming subsumed in a chemical fog that sent people scattering like ants. Keith could hear the woman on the megaphone pleading for calm, but she, too, was cut off as abruptly as the madness started.

The crowd pushed and shoved. Protestors ran screaming as policeman descended amongst the crowd, sending Keith's blood cold with fear as he remembered himself, and what he'd just loaded in the backseat. Anxiously, he fished for his keys in his jacket pocket, his fingers shaking with nerves as chaos ensued close behind. He dropped them to the floorboard by accident and muttered an oath.

As quickly as he picked them up, Keith jammed the keys into the ignition, chugging the engine of the vehicle to life and—the passenger's side of the car opened with a loud click.

_Slam!_

Keith jumped in his seat, paralyzed with shock and bewilderment. He slowly slid his gaze toward the stranger who just entered the car with him.

For two seconds, it seemed to Keith that the entire world had stopped to hold its breath.

"Cops," the stranger panted, shrill and out of breath. He was young—not much younger than Keith was, and soaked head-to-toe from the rain. "C-Cops!"

Keith didn't know what to say.

"What the hell are you doing in my car?!" he demanded. For starters, he could have said worse.

As if ignorant to his question, the stranger from the rally threw his colorful picket sign to the backseat and wiped his damp cheeks before shouting at Keith again. "You have to drive!"

Keith opened his mouth to argue and was abruptly cut off by the nearing sound of men shouting down the street. He looked at the rearview mirror. Outside, the red fluorescents of police lights began flashing, and it was more than enough of a cue to shift the car onto the road and peel out.

Beside him, the stranger had rotated his body to watch past the rear window as the street they left behind became suffused in chemical gas and smog. "They're getting in their cars," he said, his voice tight with fear. "They're on the move! We gotta lose 'em!"

Hell, if that wasn't already what he was trying to do. Keith drove the car in an erratic line to evade the few people on the street making their escape as well. "You wanna lose them? Okay." And then, he pushed on the gas. Hard.

The Dodge accelerated down the road at a raging speed as they ditched the scene, street lamps washing their eerie yellow in flickers on the dashboard. A rush of adrenaline flooded Keith. While one part of him was terrified, the other felt electric, ready to burn. Playing the role of the getaway driver again was a weird sensation, like the use of a long-neglected muscle. But he was king of the damn road in this car. And he was outrunning the cops again, too. It was as if he'd never taken the city out of him in his two years of being away. It made him excited and, at the same time, sick to his stomach.

Keith hugged the next turn sharply and with purpose. For a second, it felt as if the car had wobbled on two wheels.

At his side, the stranger was owl-eyed and unblinking at Keith, fingers clenched on the leather of the seat. "I—I said lose them, not get us killed!"

"I know what I'm doing," Keith bit out. "I can't get caught, either! There's 'shine in the backseat."

"Nuh-uh," the stranger gawked, lifting his picket sign and peeping the crates of liquor clinking underneath. He gasped. "It _is_ moonshine! Far out!"

"Sit down," Keith ordered.

"You're a madman, Mullet," the stranger said, but he obeyed and sat down properly, buckling in. Keith could feel his eyes on him still. "I'm Lance, by the way."

Keith took another swerving turn, knocking a squawkish noise out of Lance. He stole a quick glance his way. "Keith."

"Are you familiar with being chased down by cops, Keith?"

"Not these days."

Lance angled his face to steal another glance behind them. "Well, I think you can slow down now! They're gone."

Keith eased his foot off the gas gently and the car settled into a healthy purr. His heart slowed in its hammering—he hadn't even realized how on edge he'd been, being so lost to his actions. That was also frightening. With no clear idea of where they were headed, he drove them uphill until they were a part of the congested night traffic of Port Arus.

As they came to a red light, Lance spoke up again. "You drive a lot like someone who's used to getting away." His voice had an airy kind of skepticism.

"You talk a lot for someone who isn't," Keith retorted and looked his way. He sucked in a sharp gasp.

In the warm glow of the night, he could finally get a decent look at his stranger. To say the least, Lance was exposed plenty to catch a cold in this weather, with his candy-striped button-down opened nearly all the way down to his high-waisted khakis. Even the cloth of his headband was soaked, keeping his hair wet and curled against his cheeks.

"Earth to Keith," Lance was waving his hand. Keith hadn't even realized he was staring.

"Oh. What?"

"I asked if you served?" Lance perked a perfectly fine eyebrow.

Keith grimaced. "What? No."

"Then what's with the..?" Lance signaled to his neck area.

Keith looked down at his chest, at the silver dog tag sitting between his open buttons. "It's my dad's," he explained. "It's...kind of all I have left of him to carry with me."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry for anything," Keith said, something of a cold laugh carrying his words. The light turned green, and he drove along again.

He didn't know why he was being so honest with a stranger, anyway. Something about Lance's curiosity didn't grate him the way everyone else's had. It sounded more honest than someone who was already knowing. And with his reputation, that was hard to come by.

"No, I mean. I know what it's like not to have a parent around," Lance continued. His voice had a sad wobble to it before he was switching up his tune and speaking with a vehemence like the lady back at the courthouse. "But that's exactly what we're protesting. Fighting the war! Peace is cheaper! If we don't stand together, we'll fall. Unity is strength!" He did a fist pump.

"My dad didn't die in the war," Keith found himself smiling for reasons beyond himself. "Did you recite that in a mirror?"

"Oh," Lance slumped back against his seat. "And no! I am just a very passionate person of the people."

Keith didn't bother to ask what that meant. He was simply glad that there was someone here who didn't know who he was. It was a breath of fresh air.

Lance was peering out the window now, tracing a smiley face in the glass. A billboard for Daibazaal's Hotel & Lounge loomed above the car as they passed along. The billboard showed a silhouette of the great Lotor himself, his arms crossed as a nebulous background of rays defined him.

"I think that guy's a prick," Lance muttered, rubbing his temples under his headband.

Keith kept a smirk at bay. "Makes two of us."

"Have you seen the way he talks?" Lance asked. "He's such a manipulative—ugh! He totally knows what he's doing. I have a friend who went out with him, and she said he's nothing but a snake. Broke her heart and everything. I wouldn't be surprised if he was in cahoots with Mayor Morvok."

Keith knew who Mayor Morvok was. He was just another pompous idiot involved in the underground, and most definitely was at the defense of Lotor when he and his father were at the center of an extortion scandal. The city ran on corruption as much as electricity. That wasn't a one person's opinion. Everyone knew.

"Is that why you were outside the courthouse?" Keith looked at Lance expectantly.

"That and other reasons, obviously," Lance crossed his arms. "What were _you_ doing at the courthouse?"

"I already told you."

"Technically, you showed me," Lance quipped, all delight in his remark.

"Then why ask?"

"Because you're definitely not a delivery boy," Lance said. "Certainly not any kind I've ever seen. I'm just curious! And a guest in your car!"

"An uninvited one," Keith shot back.

Lance's gaze lingered on him, his mouth a pout before surrendering. "Fine," he said cattily. "Don't tell me."

The rain was coming down hard again; the Dodge's windshield wipers beat in time to some unseen metronome as they cleared the fogging glass. Keith stole a glance about the area they passed, unsure of where he was taking them.

"You mind telling me where I'm heading?" Keith asked at last.

"You take a right and keep going until you hit Garrison," Lance said. He made a vague, casual gesture. "When you see Puig Corner Coffee, you take a left and—"

"That takes you uptown," Keith interrupted, eyebrows shot up.

"I know."

"What are you doing uptown?"

Lance hesitated. "I live there?"

Keith bit the inside of his cheek. Perhaps it was his turn to prod. For a handful of seconds, he debated asking why Lance was living on the wealthiest side of Port Arus. Who was he? And what was he doing protesting out in the streets?

As they waited for yet another traffic light to change, thunder rolled in the sky.

"My mom used to say thunderstorms meant that the angels in heaven were bowling," Lance said quietly, dispelling the awkward silence.

Keith looked his way again. He figured this was his way of trying to dismiss the unspoken question between them. So he said nothing. There was no room for him to pass any judgement anyway. Not in his position.

Lance traced down the line of his collar, where a gold coin pendant rested against his exposed chest. "I keep her with me, too." Suddenly, his fingers cinched into the parting of his shirt, and Keith felt every muscle go rigid.

It didn't take a second more to realize Lance was quivering. He wrinkled his nose as if to keep a sneeze at bay and shuddered, pulling his shirt closed. On some parts, the fabric of it was clinging to him like a second skin from how wet it'd gotten, showing off the slim outline of his frame.

Keith carefully averted his eyes. He felt embarrassed for looking, but not for being interested. Instead of dwelling on it, he shrugged his jacket off and held it Lance's way without turning his gaze. His face felt hot. "Better you wear it right now than me," he gave it a gentle shake. "Or catch pneumonia."

Lance sniffed quietly as he took it. "How charitable of you."

The light changed and Keith turned left off of Garrison, following the narrow tributary of Thayserix and east to Lance's directions, toward the dominion of Altea—the neighborhood just on the coastline of Port Arus. The neighborhood of all the rich and wealthy.

Lance hugged Keith's jacket around himself with a pleased hum, letting out a happy little sigh as Keith turned on the heater.

"You couldn't be more satisfied, could you?" Keith asked.

"A cup of joe would be the bee's knees," Lance suggested sunnily. "But, there is something else that could lift my spirits." He wiggled his fingers out and cranked on the radio.

Static burbled as Lance sought out a signal from where Keith had left it—talk radio. He received a real judging gaze for that, but as soon as Lance landed on a station, the voice of a radio host filtering through caught his attention.

_"And in more recent news, tonight we're just getting word in about the anarchy going down at Port Arus' courthouse on West and Iverson... Police have raided and pulled several protestors in custody. I'll say, the invasion of the hippies is quite interesting to watch unfold."_

Static buzzed as Lance sought another station with a growl. "Just perfect! Listen to that! Not even half an hour, and they're already jumping up everyone's butts to paint us as the bad guys," he scoffed. "But, nooo, when it comes to two-faced crime lords like Lotor, everything's peachy. So long as he keeps giving big fat donations to churches and orphanages."

Keith threw Lance a sympathetic sort of glance, unsure of how to follow up. He had no reassuring words for how divided the town's values were. In his eyes, this city had always been rotting from the inside out. And he'd been a part of the decaying, too, once upon a time.

Instead of addressing anything further, he brushed Lance's angry fingers from the knob of the radio, settling on a rock 'n pop station.

_"Put your head on my shoulder... Hold me in your arms, baby. Squeeze me oh-so-tight..."_

The sullen look on Lance's face dissolved into something big and bright. He uncrossed his arms and beamed, springing back so quickly it's almost comical. "Oh, I love this song!"

Keith smiled to himself, amused by Lance's easy amusement. There was comfort in it.

As he pulled the car into Lance's neighborhood, Keith found a vast difference in the conditions on this side of town. There were no dark and old-bricked tenements, no cracked pavements or corner pawnshops. Instead, grand townhouses lined the blocks of tree-lined streets, all in their own elegant design and in mint condition. Keith felt a lurch of envy burn like coal fire in his stomach.

Lance rotated his body to face Keith and crossed his long legs. "Look, I didn't mean to insult you back there with the whole crime lords comment."

Keith felt his nerves coiling again. His fingers tightened on the wheel. "It's fine. I'm used to it, I guess."

"But you're not a bad person!" Lance said and gave a small wince. "It's not like you think. I..." he trailed off and looked past the windshield, biting the edge of his lip and pointing at a the last house down the block. "I'm there."

Keith looked on ahead and spotted Lance's house, pulling the Dodge up to to the street to park before the fashionable residence. He sized up the place—three grand stories worth of cream brick and dark accents.

"I'm trying to thank you here," Lance said, bringing Keith's attention back on himself. His cheeks went visibly pinker. "I don't know...who you work for, but whatever it is you're doing, it's beneath you. Otherwise, you wouldn't have cared to give me a ride."

"Anyone else would have—"

"No," Lance snapped, and Keith couldn't help but go a little wide-eyed. "No, they wouldn't have. Not in this town. Everyone in this place is rotten. You think I don't know that?"

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I mean to say you're better than that," Lance whispered, quiet as if sharing a secret. "Whoever says differently is a liar, and they're keeping you strapped here because you can do things they can't."

Keith scoffed, and it hurt worse than any jeer or insult—this _hope_ that kindled deep inside at Lance's words, that there was possibility to be someone outside of the mob family that he'd been raised in. How could he say that this was the life he was choosing to make for himself?

"It's easier said than done," Keith said, shifting in his seat awkwardly under Lance's soft gaze. "I'm not. A great person."

And then a giggle tore out of Lance, loud and tommy gun—quick. "You're so modest, it's perfect!"

Keith huffed, hunching his shoulders as if that could conceal the mask of heat surfacing to his cheeks. "Am not."

"Not modest or not perfect?"

"Not perfect. I'm not modest, either, but I know myself enough to know that considering a life outside the mafia is just," Keith sighed and glanced away. "Wishful thinking."

The Dodge's windshield clouded with fog and streaks of rain, turning the inside of the car dark and broody. Keith didn't like talking so much, having his feelings unspooled like this. When he considered saying something else, Lance took his wrist very suddenly and his breathing seized.

"That's the town speaking for you," Lance lowered his chin and leveled his gaze with Keith's. There was a renewed vigor in his eyes, deep blue and sincere. "Don't let them warp how you see yourself."

Keith's heartbeat quickened till he could hear the rhythm of his blood in his ears like drums. The night was like a great dark blanket, the sound of rain just out the car but a murmur. Something about this boy drowned out the rest of the world. He swallowed thickly.

"Okay," Keith murmured, paper-dry and mesmerized.

Lance's gaze lingered for an instant more, before he looked down and removed his hand from Keith. "I gotta go," he said, a note of shyness in his voice as he popped the car door open. "Thanks, again."

Keith watched through the car as Lance ran around the front of the Dodge, shielding the now light drizzle from his head with his hands. Before leaving, he came up to the driver's side, and signaled for Keith to roll down his window. When at last he did, Keith was met with a smile that made his heart slam against his ribcage. The cloth headband Lance wore exposed the round, high-cheeked beauty of his face. The orange-gold of the streetlights made the apples of his cheeks look polished.

"You keep in mind what I said to you," he said and gave Keith's shoulder a tap, his eyes half-lidded and bringing a smile against Keith's will.

Keith felt tongue-tied, robbed of a response that could challenge Lance's charm. "I will."

Lance glanced behind himself before meeting Keith with a final grin. "Stay groovy, Keith."

In the next moment, Keith was watching his mysterious stranger run swiftly down the townhouse's alley, vaulting up the fire escape and disappearing through a window.

On the drive back to Sendak's bar, Keith couldn't keep the image of Lance's smiling face out of his head. The sappiest of romantic songs played continuously throughout the night ride, and he turned the volume up louder.

**Author's Note:**

> i've wanted to tackle a mafia au forever. this one's been sitting in my drafts for a long, long time now. i honestly loved the story dearly, and there's way more left than this crazy little meet-cute, but honest, how's it looking so far? really, do you wanna see more? ; v ; PLEASE, leave a comment down below, let me know what you guys think! 
> 
> as for me, back to completing those wips! hzzuk!
> 
> twitter : [@peachgrdn](https://mobile.twitter.com/peachgrdn) / tumblr : [peachgrdn](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/peachgrdn)


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